Front Porch

Creeeeek. We’ve all heard it, the perfectly imperfect house sound that cannot be fixed despite our best efforts. We hear it most loudly our first nights in a new home, but over time, the noise becomes an audible welcome home. 

Traditional porch Midwest

For me, the culprit of this misdemeanor is our lovely front porch, the third step to be precise. 

An afternoon sip what could be better than a fresh Iced Tea

Brookfield Michigan B & B

Navy and White always a classic. Indoor Outdoor Rug design

Upon a glance, the white-washed porch might almost seem idyllic. After all, the front porch is the face of a happy American household where once can imagine growing old on. (To reference the overused, and valid cliché of the elderly couples drinking sweet tea in rocking chairs.)

However, these steps like any face well studied, has a few imperfections. For one, the paint is slowly beginning to peel off the edges, creating some wrinkles here and there, which, if according to plan, will be remedied in the autumn. But for now, these steps remain untouched until the last summer firefly can be spotted.

Welcoming a Rainy Day

White Washed and Sun Bleached

Smitten Kitchen : Always cooking up something terrific

Sundays

At first, like any house sound, this creek on the third step haunted me. It didn't matter how I was walking, treading heavily or lightly, the sound would mock me. The porch didn’t care if I had a bad day and had groceries in hand, the same bothersome noise would consistently emit rain or shine

A Restful Retreat 

Yes, if you’re wondering I did call whoever you call to remedy these problems and each time it became “fixed” the exact noise would remain—after attempting to solve the problem myself, naturally. 

So, like it or not, I had to deal with the “creeeeeek” each time I came to and from the house. 

Bunny Williams designs with Century Furniture

Over the seasons, I became used to the noise. The porch no longer irked me with its obnoxious sound. You might even say I was immune to it.

Magnificent Lighting

Mason Jars & Jute, a great DIY project

Yet, the fact remains that several school plays, honor roll ceremonies, and graduations later, I began to enjoy its welcome home.   

A beautiful wrap around in CAD

The Chanticleer Nantucket

Today, you can find me with a smile on my face on the front porch any given day of the week. I hope you find yourself just as lucky as I when coming across a house sound—

You’ll never know how blessed you are to uncover your house’s “welcome home.” 

Rinse and Repeat

The rushing of fresh water over rolling over the romantic rocks of my childhood comes flooding back to me. 

I remember the time—to be honest the several times—my father drove his four-wheeler with all of the bells and whistles, including the ever necessary rooftop exhaust  through the gurgling rivers of my neighborhood. And when I say rivers, I don’t mean a cute little stream of water with a doe drinking from the water’s edge. Instead, imagine the adrenaline educing white water rapids of Colorado, with a determined Irishman at the wheel of the Jeep refusing to find a road. He’s the one who wants to drive through the madness.

Polomba Bath Collection by Laufen

Now, as a kid and even to this day I think what happens next is the fun part. He’d tell my mother and us boys to get out of the car. My mother would patiently wait to see if it was safe to cross and my brother and I walked across the river. At the time, I thought it was just for fun

Victoria + Albert graces the Orlando Hotel in Napoli. 

Nothing like an outdoor shower. I saw these at the Architectural Digest  Home Show in New York. 

Sometimes simple is best, colors reminiscent of the surf. 

Only later in my life did I catch on to the fact that he wasn’t trying to make the vacation more exciting, but using his own children—ME—as a gauge for how deep the river was so that the family car could drive through the chilly currents without stalling.

Transitional showers by Jee-O

We’d all make it across. Me and my brother wet on the other side of the bank and my mother, now in the car, on the passenger side of this indestructible Jeep drove up with my dad. I remember the car struggling to trudge past the slippery boulders and my father’s fixed gaze on the shoreline when the water was past the door handles. Somehow he knew he’d make it across.

Oborain showers

And I know what I’m about to say may sound a little out there, but because of my outdoorsy upbringing, every time I hear the rushing of water, for a moment, I come back to this memory of my family daring to cross the river. And in this sense, of myself growing up and evolving to fit a now fairly urban environment, I’m somehow connected to the water. Like the rivers of my childhood, I came from an almost untamed environment where I crashed and collided with the rocks around me until finally the day came where I was fit enough to find my residency in the city—no longer needing to find my path because I was already on it.

So, every time I hear an outdoor shower or the lapping of waves on Lake Michigan, I’m reminded of the determination of my father and how great an impact our relationship with water can be on the untamed human spirit.